


falling in love, and other things to do at a coffee shop

by merelydovely



Series: Les Mis Women Week 2017 [8]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Dom Cosette, F/F, Light Dom/sub, Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, sub Éponine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 01:59:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11681637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merelydovely/pseuds/merelydovely
Summary: People look at the two of them and they figure Cosette's the sweet one, Éponine's the wild one. They have it exactly backward.Or: Cosette keeps Éponine busy while they wait for Éponine's coffee order to be filled.





	falling in love, and other things to do at a coffee shop

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the [COFFEE SHOP prompt](http://probably-pride-related.tumblr.com/post/162287312525/les-mis-wlwwomens-week-psa) of [Les Mis Women/WLW Week](https://persephonah.tumblr.com/post/162241826110/is-your-gay-ass-starved-of-the-much-needed-wlw) 2017.

“Want your usual?”

Éponine smiled and nodded. Cosette smiled back, a wide, genuine, eye-crinkling smile, before turning to make her way toward the front counter.

That was the state of their relationship in a nutshell: warm, comfortable, but not so settled that they’d gotten over the urge to stare. At the end of every phone call, Éponine had to stop herself saying “I love you.” She knew it was too soon, but god, it felt  _right._

They’d first met in this very coffee shop some months ago. Well, no, that wasn’t quite true; technically, they’d met as children, back when Éponine’s parents had been running a profitable foster kid scam. Éponine wouldn’t have remembered Cosette – Cosette hadn’t stayed long, and there had been so  _many_ children – but Cosette had been memorable simply because she had been the last. 

A man had come to take Cosette away, bringing an inexplicably large bonus for Éponine’s parents, and then a short time later it transpired that his papers had been faked and Cosette had not been meant to leave with him at all.

Éponine’s parents had finally lost their accredited status, and the flow of children had ended.

So Éponine had a good excuse for remembering Cosette. She sometimes wondered if there was another reason Cosette stood out in her memory, rendered in romantic pastels amidst a neverending fog of sepia, but if there had been, Éponine certainly hadn’t known at the time.

She’d known it that first day in the coffee shop, though. Éponine had recognized her instantly, insisted they had to sit down and catch up. The need to learn what had become of Cosette in the intervening decade had been only a pretense; Éponine’s true motivation had been Cosette’s plump lips, her blue, blue eyes, and the way she fit into a halter dress.

And then it had turned out Cosette was attractive in more ways than just aesthetically: she was wild, sly, fiercely loving, curious to a fault, pulling Éponine down after her for every leap of faith. Éponine had lived a tumultuous life, but the great bulk of Cosette’s childhood had been confined and unvarying; Éponine was desperation seeking stability, Cosette was stability seeking adventure. The part of Éponine that was drawn to recreate the high-stress environment of her childhood could find a healthy outlet in Cosette.

They fit. They fit, and heaven help her, Éponine was actually happy.

As soon as the thought occurred to her she knocked hastily on the laminated wood of the booth, not wanting to tempt fate. 

“Who’s there?” said Cosette, sliding back in next to Éponine in the booth. 

“Your girlfriend,” said Éponine shyly. “Knock on wood.”

“Aww,” Cosette cooed, kissing Éponine on the nose. “Drink's under your name, it’ll be ready in a a minute or two.”

Éponine thanked her, tipping her head onto Cosette’s shoulder. Cosette’s hand found Éponine’s the bare skin of Éponine’s thigh, just below her skirt. Maybe that was a better illustration of the current stage of their relationship, that they were so hungry for skin-to-skin contact they were sitting on the same side of a four-person table to ensure ease of access.

Cosette’s hand was trending upward and inward, sliding into the vee of Éponine’s legs. “Can I?” she murmured, just barely audible.

Éponine shivered as Cosette’s hand brushed up against her through her underwear. “Here? Are you sure? What if someone sees?”

“No one’s at the right angle, we’re blocked by the booth,” Cosette said, not sounding worried in the slightest. “Here, wait a sec,” and she pulled off her cardigan, tossing it oh-so-casually into Éponine’s lap. 

Tension began to accumulate in Éponine’s shoulders. This went against everything she’d ever learned from her upbringing, from life on the street: sex put people in a position of weakness and she was too exposed; she ought to be somewhere she could control, somewhere defensible, hidden. The risk was huge.

But Cosette wrapped an arm around her, gathering Éponine close so that her face was pressed against Cosette, unable to scan the environment for threats. “Shhh,” whispered Cosette, stroking Éponine’s hair like someone soothing a nervous horse. “I’ve got you. Let me take care of you.”

A little thrill jolted through Éponine at those words. She was struck by the stark dichotomies of the situation: safety/danger, vulnerable/protected, exposed/hidden, public/private, risk/certainty. Somehow they were all true simultaneously. Why that was so arousing Éponine didn’t know, but she trusted her girlfriend, trusted her enough to spread open for her right here in their coffee shop.

Cosette’s hand insinuated itself beneath the cardigan and then Éponine’s skirt, quickly retracing its earlier path up Éponine’s thigh. Éponine let out a pleased little hum as Cosette started teasing one finger along Éponine’s outer lips through her panties. A deeper hum followed as Cosette rubbed more insistently at Éponine’s entrance, the first hints of moisture following in the path of Cosette’s finger. Cosette liked to wait until Éponine’s panties were soaked through, and she was following her usual pattern, pressing and rubbing first at Éponine’s clit and then lower to the source of the wetness, over and over until Éponine could feel herself dripping. 

Then Cosette pulled gently at Éponine’s panties so that the soaked part over her entrance was instead over her clit, and Éponine failed to completely swallow her small cry of pleasure. Cosette pulled her tighter, smothering Éponine’s tiny noises against her skin. 

It was breathtaking, thought Éponine through the fog of her arousal, the way Cosette could so reliably read Éponine without an audiovisual component. Cosette couldn’t see Éponine’s face or hear her voice, and she was holding onto Éponine too tightly to allow any obvious movement, but at a single twitch or squirm from Éponine, Cosette’s movements would shift to match Éponine’s desires – that was how well Cosette had learned her girlfriend’s body.

Éponine was wholly and completely under Cosette’s thumb, all thoughts of the coffee shop drowned out by waves of desire. She was attuned not to her surroundings but to Cosette’s confident touch. Any other time, any other place, and Cosette would be kissing her, stroking her breasts, tugging her hair, or a million other little secondary touches, but now all the focus was on Éponine’s clit and cunt, heightened sensation doubly heightened by the distant awareness that they were  _in public._

“There’s something I’m thinking of buying you,” said Cosette in a low voice. Her hand was moving steadily, making smooth circles around Éponine’s clit, even as she kept talking: “A new vibrator. This one with a remote control. I’ll plug you up with it one night, then take you out to dinner. Somewhere fancy. Candlelight, roses, expensive wine... black linen tablecloths big enough to hide a multitude of sins. See where I’m going with this?” she purred.

As she listened, Éponine suddenly knew she belonged to Cosette, and Cosette could have her anywhere she liked, whether that was a little indie coffee shop doing a roaring trade in cram session espresso or the fanciest restaurant in Paris. Anywhere.

Éponine groaned softly into Cosette’s neck, both overwhelmed and incredibly turned on by the realization.

“We’ll ask for a secluded corner, just like this,” Cosette went on, voice husky, “but we’ll have to be,” hardly more than a breath, “ _very quiet_.” Her hand on Éponine slowed dramatically, dipping down to frot against Éponine’s swollen lips, and Éponine sagged into Cosette’s hold like her strings had been cut. She hadn’t realized how close she’d been, not till her orgasm had been snatched away.

“I’ll use the lowest setting,” continued Cosette, grinding more insistently. Éponine bit her lip. “Barely more than a buzz, not enough to get you off — just enough to make you crazy. So when I tell you to touch yourself, right there in the restaurant, you won’t be able to hold back.”

Cosette was teasing her way back up toward Éponine’s clit, The way she was pulling against the fabric of Éponine’s panties multiplied the impact of her touch, dragging against all of Éponine’s most sensitive parts with a delicious wet friction.

“Please,” begged Éponine, her words hopelessly muffled. “Please,  _please_.”

“I’ll make you keep touching yourself, till you’re close,” Cosette promised, “and then—” she pressed, torturously, against Éponine’s clit hood, sliding it in a slow, smug circle, “—I’ll get out my phone, take a nice picture. Make it my new background. Everyone else will see a cute date, but I’ll know that you’re wet and trembling and open for me. My perfect little slut.”

She said it so simply, so affectionately. It was a term of endearment —  _pride_ , even — but Éponine still quivered to hear it, flushed with a hot sense of shame that did nothing but intensify her arousal.

Cosette’s circles had been picking up speed, and now she was reaching terminal velocity, neither accelerating nor decelerating, not letting up for even a moment. Éponine could feel her orgasm building again, and prayed fervently that this time Cosette would let her finish.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” said Cosette, her voice strained with the effort of keeping a quick and steady pace. “Touching yourself in public, just because I told you to? Letting me fill you up in front of everyone, hidden in plain sight?”

Éponine nodded, frantic, trying and failing to keep her hips still as she rocked helplessly into Cosette’s hand.

“Then,” said Cosette, with a coaxing, inviting air, “why don’t you show me what a good girl you are? Come for me.”

Her hand was inexorable against Éponine, firm and wet and perfect. Almost —  _almost —_

 _“Now,”_  ordered Cosette.

Éponine gasped into Cosette’s collarbone, her stomach muscles contracting sharply as she shuddered through her climax.

Cosette held Éponine through the last twitches of her afterglow in silence, then slowly brought the hand that had been under the cardigan back to the table, wiping it delicately on a paper napkin.

“Your drink’s probably ready,” she said, like nothing had happened. Then she stood, winked conspiratorially at Éponine, and sauntered off toward the pickup counter.

Éponine slumped bonelessly against the hard plastic cushion of the booth. She was glad Cosette had been the one to stand, because her own legs had yet to stop shaking.

She closed her eyes for what felt like half a second. When she opened them again, there was a drink in front of her, and Cosette was once more at her side.

“It should be the right temperature now,” said Cosette. All traces of husky alto had vanished from her voice, replaced by her typical sweet soprano. “You always drink it too fast and burn your tongue.”

Éponine sipped obediently at her drink. It was... perfect.

“Wait, wait,” she said, putting the drink down. “Did you... did you engineer that little episode for the sake of my  _drink order_?”

Cosette’s eyes danced. “I’ll never tell,” she said, a Cheshire Cat grin plastered on her face.

Éponine stared blankly between her perfect coffee and her perfect girlfriend, flabbergasted.

“Thank you for taking such good care of me,” she said at length.

Cosette wrapped an arm around her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “My pleasure,” she hummed into Éponine’s hair.

Éponine leaned into Cosette, letting her eyes fall closed.  _Maybe_ , she thought,  _maybe next time I’ve got ‘I love you’ on the tip of my tongue — maybe next time I won’t stop myself._

**Author's Note:**

> Title places me among the three million authors who have named their fic with a reference to Landon Pigg's immortal [Falling In Love At A Coffee Shop](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=erywPdFfORE).
> 
> Rebloggable version [here](https://les-amis-de-nsfw.tumblr.com/post/163700904342/coffee-shop-au) on my NSFW Les Mis sideblog, [@les-amis-de-nsfw](https://les-amis-de-nsfw.tumblr.com/).


End file.
